


The Holy Days

by HansBlanke



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Christian Holidays, Christmas, Curtain Fic, F/F, M/M, Old Married Couple, Original Character(s), Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 01:11:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16295456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HansBlanke/pseuds/HansBlanke
Summary: The old colleagues gather together to eat, drink and celebrate.





	The Holy Days

As Archer would say, the Christmas was late this year. As Shran would remind, pretending to be grumbling and rolling his eyes, it was not about Christmas but about the stupid humans being late with the celebrations. He did have a point; as early as November, Reed had sent them a letter with a thousand apologies for not being able to return from his deep-space mission before the New Year, promising to make up for the delay with a bottle or two of Orion water. T'Pol found taking part "in the cultural and social life of a sisterworld" undoubtedly logical, yet inviting only her would be far from a rare occasion, as the deputy Ambassador of Vulcan and her spouse lived next street from the family of the Andorian ambassador. They would barely have anything to discuss at dinner. In short, the whole lot decided to wait for Reed, so the admiral husbands sang "God rest ye merry gentlemen" in a most private circle. Well, at least, there was no one to laugh at the way Shran's antennae contracted painfully at the off-key moments.  
The thing promised to be worth the waiting: let alone the drinks and the expert opinion on them, Reed (also known as Captain Reed for quite a number of decades) was surely going to share some deep-space news and stories that helped to tell the official log from the personal one; as for Hoshi, Mrs. Sato would quit the role of the Professor of Xenolinguistics at Starfleet Academy, and start telling Klingon anecdotes instead. Also, inviting the women was always a curious thing, having a look of a family where other cultures combined. The Vulcan ever looked cold as snow, as if still making Hoshi anxious: will SHE allow closeness? and let warm HER up?  
Archer asked her one day, cautiously and yet directly, whether living with a Vulcan was good enough to make you stand all the restrictions that went with it. The only answer Sato gave him was, "If you saw her smile in her sleep, you would never ask." Her ancestors were known to live as long as she has without the help of the twenty-third century medicine; still, she believed that love defeated age. The others had their opinions, too, and the topic could easily become the start point for the friendly fights that brightened up the planned week of holiday dinners.  
“Having something to do and to keep your brains busy with is most important after you turn a hundred years old,” Archer insisted. “Everyone says that. Look at me; I have to make such a lot of decisions! Of course, we’ve had time to practice that since our worlds united, and experience makes it easier, but do you think it was easy to develop the Directives or to legalize interspecies marriages?”  
“Still, I am the one who looks the youngest,” Malcolm answered, thoughtful, “and you know why?”  
“Why indeed?” T’Pol raised her eyebrows.  
“Except for you, of course.” The man bowed slightly to her. “My secret is simple: just as Mr. Shran keeps noting, I remain unmarried and childless. My only concern is the wellbeing of my crew, and that is nothing compared to the diplomatic service or family life... And refusing a promotion becomes an annual tradition. How do you think, Jonathan, how many years will it take for them to understand that I am perfectly content with my schedule of visiting the Headquarters and wish not to do that any more often?”  
Archer answered him with a shrug of indefinite meaning and started to cut the steak.  
“Well, that was wordy. Please, tell us where your wonderful daughters are.” Reed gave the hosts a warm smile that brought beautiful wrinkles to his eyes.  
Jonathan opens his mouth to answer, but Shran didn’t let him to:  
“It’s useless to ask Archer about that. He’ll begin talking about the Federation, and that’s all. You have another children, okay?” He turned to Malcolm, and his voice softened. “You could see ‘em here just a couple of weeks ago. Talla’s expedition is barely over, she’s now with her mother, and they don’t have any special holidays in this period. By the way, Jhemma likes the New Year celebrations the best. She didn’t seem to appreciate what I explained about Christmas. I think the Andorians in general do not understand the concept of God, because really, no explanation worked...”  
“Are you sure you explained anything to her?” Archer commented sarcastically. Shran snorted and poked him.  
“So. Jhemma decided to drop in, but that’s her first time in Aenar, and she was late for the return flight. She texted me in the evening she was about to change on Vulcan. That will only delay her till morning. Tomorrow we’ll all be together again.”  
His smile was unexpectedly tender for an Andorian. But not all the tenderness in the world would keep him from saying “Thanks, pinkskin” when Archer handed him a plate of steak. The latter just laughed at the old joke and continued the conversation:  
“I am not saying this is a roll call, but where’s Travis?”  
“He is alright,” Hoshi assured. “Some ten thousand light years away, though. He did send me a transmission a couple of weeks ago, and he is alive and well, just not coming.”  
“Next time you can tell him that coming to San Francisco is an order,” Reed proposed.  
“He is retired.” Jonathan shook his head. Hoshi nodded and said, “He is a scientist now. Studying the warp theory, inventing this and that... Having fun, I suppose. And he’s not the only one to keep in touch with me. Greetings from Liz Cutler to all of you! And someone tell me, am I still a comm officer?”  
“Who’s that?” Shran asked, not much enthusiasm in his voice. Archer frowned to help himself recall:  
“Another fellow officer. I remember promoting her to Lieutenant, and then she resigned. I hardly heard anything about her since then. Where is she now?”  
“Oh, nothing higher than the Head of Interspecies Medical Exchange, believe me,” Hoshi reported proudly. “And married to Phlox’s middle son, who’s also her assistant. An enormous family, even by the Denobulans’ standards - and a dynasty of doctors, if you count from Phlox.”  
“If etiquette demands that we answer her greetings, I will be honoured to do so.” T’Pol affirmed her words with a nod. Then she turned her eyes to the steak on her wife’s plate, a suspicious look on her face, and glanced at the far corner of the table. “Malcolm, could you please pass me the celery?”  
Reed handed her the greens and could not but remark:  
“I thought I would never hear any member of my previous crew call me by the first name. Or even worse, you did so once, but only in a dream. Trip and I once were in a shuttle, lost in the middle of nowhere; that was the beginning of our first mission, even before the Xindi shuttle –why, was it not in some past life? I dreamed of having been saved, lying in the Sickbay, and of you telling me that _mal-com_ meant _serenity_ in Vulcan.”  
“It does,” Hoshi and T’Pol answered simultaneously. They looked at each other, and T’Pol added, “But I have never told you that.”  
Malcolm smiled a little and shook his head. Jonathan remembered about the champagne bottle in his hands and went on with his trying to open it.  
Two small chimes sounded. Shran took his padd off his pocket and looked at the screen. Then he glanced at T’Pol, who didn’t move at the sound. He clicked a few buttons and put the gadget back. For human ears, the new sound was hardly dissimilar from the first one, but it seemed to concern the Vulcan:  
“May I? That is an urgent notification.”  
Answered with a friendly nod, she snatched her padd from her pocket, but then her brow cleared, and she said calmly, “Mr. Shran, for what purpose would someone with whom I share a table forward me messages from the general channel and mark them as urgent?”  
“Complain when you’ve read it.” Shran’s answer was calm to an unusual degree. As well as his gaze upon the woman was steadier than ever.  
T’Pol obeyed, and looked at the screen, eyes glassy, for so long that Hoshi asked anxiously, “What’s wrong?” As long as she could remember, an unimportant news never stunned the Vulcan like that.  
“Nothing is, _ashayam._ ” T’Pol slid the padd into her pocket and took her wife by the hand, calming her. “A colleague’s wife has given birth to a son.”  
“ _A_ colleague’s, my dear?” Shran repeated with a demanding tone. He caught Hoshi’s eye, confusion on her face, and explained. “It’s Sarek. The current ambassador of Vulcan, whose deputy is your _belle dame._ And his wife is from Earth,” he said, ever more meaningful, looking back at T’Pol.  
“The boy’s name is Spock,” she only said. “The parents obviously have a taste.”  
You can learn to handle the Vulcans, Malcolm sighed to himself, but you never get used to them. They display emotion in a situation where any human would hold themselves back, and do their best to seem utterly unaffected when no one would blame them for an emotional outburst.  
The bottle Archer had been opening finally gave up resisting, and the champagne burst out toward the ceiling, breaking the awkward silence that threatened to give forth a hybrid of congratulations and consolations. Shran had to dodge; Hoshi laughed and dabbed her eyes with a small gesture.  
There was left just enough in the bottle to wet the glasses. Jonathan raised his one and toasted sentimentally, “To the next generation!”


End file.
